A Handsome Prince
by shakespeareia
Summary: After traveling to the Emerald City to secure a commission with the Gale Force, Fiyero Tiggular is granted an audience with the Wizard's young successor, who may know the prince's mind - and body - better than he does himself. SLASH/HET. A mixture of the Maguire novel, the stage musical, the MGM film, and the original Oz books by L. Frank Baum. Eventual Fiyero/Elphaba. VERY AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. - So apparently I've gone insane. But the idea bit me, and it wouldn't let go. This story is based off of a sudden, wild realization I came to while watching "Howl" the movie about Allen Ginsberg starring James Franco, as well as Aaron Tveit as Peter Orlovsky, Ginsberg's life partner. And, being the sick, messed-up person that I am, I suddenly thought - "Oh my God. The Wizard is in bed with Fiyero!" (In case you haven't put two and two together, Tveit portrayed Fiyero in the stage show, and Franco played Oz in the recent film, "The Great and Powerful") Thus this had to happen. And I'm very sorry. So - enjoy! (I hope!) **

***Throws fic and runs for bomb shelter***

He was young. That was the more startling aspect.

And yet, on contemplation, Fiyero wondered at his own surprise.

After all, the famed Wizard had ruled Oz for the past twenty-five years, at least. And he had seen the paintings – when the balloon dropped down, the man was hardly a day over seventy. Who was it to say that in all that time, the scepter had never been passed on to a son – or several?

It had begun rather suddenly, there was no way to deny that.

His father, despite the fact it had all but emptied half the family coffers, and forced them to mortgage two castles for a year, had purchased his commission to the Gale Force quite rapidly. Perhaps it was simply his manner of disposing of an essentially useless son, who had become nothing but a source of embarrassment and disappointment.

Glinda however, he had delighted in – blond, blue-eyed and playful, she had been welcomed by the population of the region with open arms, and considered the perfect candidate for "future empress consort."

A wicker rickshaw laced with gold thread and yellow diamonds had carried them to the capital city, the royal emblem of the Vinkus – three diamond-shaped sapphires surrounded by peacock feathers – sparkling in the bright sunlight and dazzling every onlooker.

And yet, with Avaric screaming commands to the sawhorse and Glinda giggling in his ear at every possible moment, Fiyero could hardly call the journey "fit for royalty."

It was easier to affect nonchalance and frivolous empty-headedness – people expected that in a spoiled prince, anyway.

At the sight of royal insignia, the Guard had thrown open the enormous emerald gates with a graceful bow, and Glinda squealed in excitement as the gold-plated wheels rattled off of mossy yellow brick and onto roads of polished malachite, smooth as glass.

Despite his rank, Fiyero had never set foot in the famed City of Emeralds, and couldn't help but be slightly amazed at the brilliance of every building, alley, and walkway. All was green marble, set thick with green gems as large as his two fists put together, and every common citizen that lined the boulevards was clothed in silks and brocades, trimmed richly with every known jewel. Indeed, the populace was so well attired that the nobles began to consider themselves somewhat less than adequate in their travelling garb, and Glinda whimpered in his ear that she felt like a waif.

So he ordered the cart to a halt, and left her at the steps of a suitably grand gown emporium. Several eager young women quickly surrounded her with bolts of silk and lace, and he concluded that the hours of dress fitting would be more than enough to occupy her mind until his return from the palace.

Ignoring the fact that he might well have just sent his future empire into bankruptcy, Fiyero carried on the short journey alone to the foot of an imposing building gated with marble and green iron. The barricade swung open to admit them, and Avaric quickly directed the sawhorse up a jeweled drive. Ffity armed soldiers lined the tower of steps leading to the palace doors, each carved from the largest emeralds found in the fairy country.

A slight blush colored his skin as the guards all raised their spears in a salute – foolish of him really. As their new captain... well...

The glittering doors swung wide, revealing an enormous barreled corridor of polished jade and carved tourmaline. His boots clacked upon the brilliant floor, seeming to echo through the bowels of the palace, and the thought sent a tremor through him.

Fear.

Strange, how the prince of every fairy story is expected to be... perfection. Handsome, dashing, courageous, without a thought other than to stand tall by his princess and keep her happy... through whatever means she insisted on.

He swallowed hard, a pale hand tightening on the enormous peridot knob at the entrance to the throne room.

Princes are human too.

The portal opened at his touch, and with a shaky breath he took his first step into the presence of the country's deified ruler.

The rumors were true.

On a golden dais stood an enormous throne, encrusted with uncountable gems, and floating just above, surrounded by flame –

_"Come forward!_"

The voice was like thunder, and Fiyero obeyed thoughtlessly, as if hypnotized. Emerald light bathed his skin, darkened his russet colored hair, and his every limb seemed to have been transformed to water as he knelt in a genuflection before the monarch...

_"Who are you, and... why do you seek me?"_

Had his nerves been less overwhelming, Fiyero might have noticed the catch within the roar, but he merely lowered his head – the collar of the velvet jacket digging viciously into the tender skin of his neck – and spoke slowly, with a keen effort to conceal his Vinkus lilt.

"Fiyero Kiamk Arjki Tiggular, crowned prince of the Vinkus, son of Marillot Koshane Arjiki Tiggular, Emperor of the Vinkus and chieftenist Chieftain of the Arjiki Clan, Lord of Kiamo Ko, foremost Nobgob of the Ozian Order of the Zee, and vassal of the Great and Powerful Oz – I... uh..."

His nerve suddenly failed him, and the well-rehearsed words died in his throat.

_"Well?_"

The prince bit his tongue until he could taste liquid iron, hands shaking no matter how viciously he dug his fingers into the flesh of his thigh. Damn, damn, damn... fucking it all up, just like usual – It would surprise no one, back home, and Father would just sneer as he always had –

"I – I'm – "

Suddenly the jeweled light faded from the room, the flames extinguished, and... and the huge head went limp like a broken puppet...

Footsteps rang on the emerald tiles, the kind made by shoes rather than boots...and when the whole figure emerged from behind the – the automaton, he supposed – it was rather a shock.

So yes – he was young, perhaps about twenty-five? No older than he, certainly, Fiyero hastened to assure himself. Hardly intimidating, and yet...

He was handsome too, it was undeniable. Not in the manner which the prince had always been appraised, but nonetheless striking. Dark green eyes stood out from milk-flower skin, and black curls feathered across his brow, down his neck. He was richly dressed in a suit of charcoal velvet, and at his throat was pinned a flame-colored garnet, surrounded by diamonds. Otherwise he wore not a single ornament, save for a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, which seemed more intended for necessity rather than the current fashion.

"My my- a prince of the blue-blood kneeling at my feet – there are perks to this job."

Fiyero merely stared, confusion raging in his mind like a storm.

If this – but – then - that meant – but – if –

"Hush..." the stranger chided, a finger to his lips, and Fiyero realized with a rush of embarrassment that he'd been babbling aloud.

"Your father wrote – it seems he doubted the likelihood of your ability to ... bless, how shall I put it?... Pontificate upon your request under pressure?"

The skin beneath his collar instantly felt warm, and it was as if he had shrunk to the height of the lowliest munchkin – damn Father, damn the whole stupid -!

"It was very... telling, to say the least."

He moved closer, and for some reason Fiyero felt a tingle surge down the length of his spine – the man hadn't a single blemish anywhere about his face and neck, his hands were smooth, the fingers long and tapered...

"You're trembling..." he murmured, lifting a pale hand and uncurling the fist with little difficulty – it was as if every muscle had been liquefied... Little half-moons of blood littered the palm, where the nails had bitten into the flesh.

A fingertip dipped into one of the small wounds, and the faint tinge of pain seemed to finally force the prince to speech.

"You – you're no wizard..."

His only answer was a minute smile.

"Aren't I?" the other murmured quietly, and cupped his cheek –

Fiyero went breathless...

"Now what do you see?"

Blue eyes widened as they stared into the other set of green, every tiny hair lifting at the back of his neck, and the flush that colored his cheekbones only darkened.

"I..."

"Yes?" the other pushed gently, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"I – That's –uh – that's pretty illustrative..."

"I'm sure... What else?"

His mouth had gone dry, leaving his tongue thick and heavy against his teeth –

"I...uh... I definitely look like I'm enjoying myself..."

Green eyes flashed behind the spectacles.

"Oh yes. You would."

The hand caressing his face slid to his neck, easing away that damned collar... A thumb pressed into the hollow beneath his Adam's apple, halting his breath for a fleeting, thrilling moment...

"You will."

He cocked his head towards the throne, and – Fiyero noted hazily for the first time – a doorway curtained with green silk.

"Come."

**A.N. - Thoughts thus far? Smut to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. - Warning to all: here be smut. Slash galore. If it squicks you, just hit the back button. If not, I hope you enjoy, and leave me a review!**

The chamber was magnificent, but Fiyero should have expected nothing less.

Every piece of furniture glittered with diamonds, set thick in gold, and the royal emblem – O-Z – was embroidered upon every cloth surface in silver thread.

The ivory carpet was thick enough to muffle their footfalls, and at the room's center was an enormous fountain of solid gold which held a never-ending cascade of perfumed water.

It was strange, the prince mused to himself later, that he even noticed – for the most entrancing things at the moment were the slender fingers plucking open the golden frog-clasps upon his jacket, the chest flush to his spine, the warm breath against his hair...

"Poor pretty princeling..." the monarch crooned, hands flexing and reaching inwards, and Fiyero couldn't help a quiet murmur of relief as the heavy layer of brocade and gold piping slid from his shoulders and crumpled to the floor.

"Daddy always expected so much, didn't he, and you were never adequate, never... So much responsibility on a pair of young, handsome shoulders that could never bear the weight..."

Fiyero trembled a little, a response elicited more by the words than from the actions, though they were certainly disquieting enough – both braces unbuckled and swinging loose by his hips, as those Oz-damned fingers slid over pale, viridescent silk and began slipping pearl buttons free.

"You hate the thought of that, don't you? Responsibility to the crown, to the family line - responsibility... the word alone makes you shake."

Shimmering fabric slipped down pale skin, and the stranger traced his fingertips down the center of a smooth back...

"Not from indignation, oh no – but it's so much easier to let people believe that, allow them to think you avoid duty from a sense of indolence and rebelliousness, rather then admit the truth, –"

Hands slid down his ribs, leaving a bright flush in their wake, and although Fiyero had more than grasped the other's intentions, he couldn't suppress a quiet whimper as the falls of his trousers were unfastened and pulled apart...

" – that it terrifies you. That the rakish young Prince of the Vinkus would rather hurl himself from the tip of Ozma Tower rather than face the life of a ruler, a sovereign, an overlord. Am I not correct?"

There was a gasp, followed by soft moans as the constant touch slid inside the loosened fabric, and squeezed hard at warm skin.

"Well?"

Trying to ignore the hand snaking down his pelvis and blinking back humiliated tears – _no one had ever known that, no one had ever guessed – Fuck, he'd barely known himself until now_ – Fiyero nodded rapidly and gathered enough breath to gasp out a reply.

"Y-yeah..."

A palm spread flat against his breastbone, and lips brushed the shell of his ear.

"Ah – the correct form of address is 'Your Highness.' You see, unlike yourself, I have no fear of others looking to me to command them, and dictate every aspect of their lives."

The hand inside his trousers drifted lower, and Fiyero felt his heart begin to flutter crazily against his ribcage -

"Shall we try again?"

Not two feet away, the fountain played softly, permeating the air with the scent of rosehips and apple, as the prince writhed quietly, cheeks pinked, and uncertain whether he wished to escape from the inevitable contact or to hasten it...

"Y-Yes, your Highness..."

Laughter huffed into his ear, breath and lips were hot, and a strangled little noise worked up from his throat as the edge of gold spectacles scraped his cheekbone, almost painfully...

"Good boy."

The warmth at his back vanished suddenly, and with a choked moan Fiyero recognized the sensation of knuckles brushing his thighs, a mouth on his hipbone, as his last shreds of modesty were drawn down to his knees.

He could hardly recall the original purpose of his presence in the chamber, though he was beginning to flail for it desperately. The lacings at the back of his boots were being picked loose, and as the humiliation deepened he felt a sudden, panicky need to cover himself, to find some form of shelter – sweet Oz, what was he, some blushing virgin?!

Actually, _yes_.

Well... uh... sort of...

Every wild thought soared from his mind in a rush, as – without any warning- a smooth hand closed around his half-hard cock, and drew him towards the bed with a firm grip.

His thighs trembled.

"Lie back."

The diamonds and pearls stitched upon the coverlet teased his skin, as he struggled to maneuver with a fist gripping his member, sending wild sensations skittering up his spine and down his legs...

"I –!"

"Hush."

Eventually, many contortions and whimpers later, Fiyero managed to stretch himself out across the bed and – as if in reward – the loose fist encircling him grew far more caressive and... and...

"Ooh – Ooooooh..."

"Shhh..." the other murmured, his free hand smoothing back russet hair. "Don't you see, I'm offering you a freedom – all decisions made for you, no obligations – all you need to do is lie still and accept. Understand?"

Although tears still welled in blue eyes, something in his belly tingled at the idea, and with a choked sob he stammered;

"Y-Yes, your Highness..."

"Good."

The monarch lowered his eyes, and smirked quietly.

"Impressive." He fondled him almost affectionately. "Your bride-to-be is quite fortunate."

Fiyero felt himself flush pink all over until he likely resembled a quadling, and could do nothing to conceal a loud wail as his right knee was drawn up...

"Shhh... shush now... just lie still..." and he struggled to obey, trembling uncontrollably...

After serving time at fourteen different schools (two of them strictly male) the prince was no stranger to physical pleasure, at least by his own hands – even once, under the instruction and gaze of another boy, with a finger just brushing the nether entrance to heighten the sensation.

Three fingers all of a sudden, all at once, and deeply inside were another matter entirely. And they were dexterous, twisting, curling, somehow finding all the right places – although until this moment he'd had no idea of what and where those were...

"Hush... I'm here, I've got you... " came the croon, and for some reason this was a comfort – although he didn't know the man at all, and he'd been stretched before his eyes like a slab of raw hypogryff meat... But now, at this moment, he needed _someone_ to assure him that he was safe, that the world wasn't falling in shards around him, now, now, when he was at once filled with greater terror and relief then he'd known in all his short life –

Perhaps he could now comprehend how the lion cub felt that evening beneath the bridge...

A stroke down the length of his nose quickly brought him back to reality, as did a jolt of unfamiliar sensation in a much different place. Reminded of the actual... _mechanics_ of the whole affair, Fiyero noticed his face beginning to burn once again and tried to turn away, to bury himself in the mountain of gold silk cushions – until a strong but slender hand gripped his chin, forcing his head back and leaving the flushed skin of his neck bare and defenseless. Lips danced down the column, lapping at delicate bones and the hollow at the base, until he shook like a leaf. The tremors only worsened, and quickly, as three fingers became four and four five, and then –

He tried to sit upright, eyes wide, before a mouth met his own and pushed him back.

"P-please..."

"Oh darling..." the monarch purred, a strange smile curling across his face, "You have no conception of the wonders your body is capable of."

He kissed him again, forcing his lips to part, tongues tangling, swallowing his little noises as the knuckles slipped past the ring of stretched muscle, and his fingers spread, his wrist pivoting, and suddenly the full realization struck him hard, that there was an entire _hand_ up inside him...

The ruler chuckled softly.

"And they told me Winkies were shit-colored..."

At any other time Fiyero would have bristled at the slur, but now, when the slightest movement felt like an earthquake and the world had gone white behind his eyelids... Sweet Lurline, he would have been fortunate to remember his own name.

Finally he shrieked something in the Vinkus tongue, spasming violently, both relishing and quailing from the steady throb of his member against his belly, and the answering pulses from every inch of skin and muscle.

Blue eyes fluttered open as the side of a hand stroked his cheek, and, moaning breathlessly, Fiyero crushed his mouth against offered lips. He tasted of marzipan and champagne, and the sensation of soft grey velvet against his bare, sweat-drenched flesh almost distracted him from the fist slipping free of his body, leaving him shaky and hollow...

"Shhh... shhh, I'm here..." the other murmured, the smile evident in his voice as his arms wrapped around a quaking torso and held him close, scattering butterfly kisses over flushed cheeks and lips bitten raw.

"I believe you've earned your commission, little boy." The monarch chuckled, his fingertip sliding through the hollow of the prince's throat.

Fiyero sighed breathlessly, bumping their noses together in a clearly exhausted attempt at affection.

"And... now?"

The other replied with a cat-like smile.

"And now... you'll remain in the city – and in my chamber."

The pronouncement was punctuated with a suckling kiss to the prince's jaw, and as a thumb worried a puckered nipple Fiyero noticed his head beginning to spin, until everything – the fountain, the ceiling mural, the diamond-studded bedstead, the grey velvet, the ruby brooch, the heated body holding him, the sweat, the groans, the aching – went black with a hard _whump_.

**A.N. - Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

The wedding was held at the Vinkus consulate in the Emerald City, performed by the head of the local Unionist diocese – much to the chagrin of traditionalists. The lack of locational grandeur had initially been a great grievance to the bride, but a spangled wedding gown dripping with gilt lace and roses eased the blow, as did the presence of royalty amongst the guests, and the gifts glittering across a ten-foot table in the foyer.

In actual fact, she giggled almost nonstop as they greeted the company afterward – to the point where Fiyero had begun to suspect it was something of a nervous habit.

Poor girl. At least he could sympathize with her upon _something_.

Her achingly bright smile almost hurt to look upon as King Evoldo of Ev kissed her hand with an expression that might have resembled a leer, and six footmen staggered under the weight of a solid gold automatonic manservant. Then Queen Zixi of Ix, bearing a crystal diadem, a gown of diamond thread, and six velvet cloaks, all of which delighted the bride until the queen smiled a trifle too warmly at the groom, at which point the five-thousand year old royal was escorted from the chamber.

Fiyero sweated bullets, and prayed to whatever gods could hear him that the day would not end with multiple declarations of open warfare.

King Doh of the Lo and Hi Lands was especially generous with a chamberful of edible bedroom furniture, and more than a few raised eyebrows passed through the crowd, followed by the bride's great-grandmother making some loud query about melting sugar frost in relation to body heat. Her fifth glass of lacasa was removed by the stewards.

The last to be announced was the Wizard's emissary, draped in green and gold and carrying an engraved silver box that, when opened, revealed a stunning necklace of carolite for the bride. The central pendant was at least half the size of her palm, and far outshone the pink diamond clusters presented to her earlier that morning by her now-husband.

Glinda squealed in a most un-regal manner and caught up the gem to look at it, admiring the fractured light as it sliced through the hundreds of intricate facets. Meanwhile, the envoy had begun to read the accompanying letter, which was beautifully worded, congratulating the couple on their marriage and wishing them happiness.

Glinda paid little to no attention, yet those who noticed wondered privately about the pink blush dusting the groom's cheekbones... particularly upon being presented with a twelve-inch rose, it's petals carved from twenty five individual rubies and set upon a glittering stick of emerald. A ribbon of white silk was knotted about the stem, and written upon the fabric in gold ink were simply the letters; _RSVP_.

It seemed to some that the prince's breathing had hitched, yet none of them – either through utter coincidence or perhaps by way of some convienently placed enchantment – observed the almost imperceptible nod he offered to the messenger, who's light smirk deepened his flush.

* * *

Their parents bid them goodnight at the foot of the enormous staircase, the mothers with stagnant, tearful smiles and pecks to the cheek, the fathers with kisses to the daughter and winking, knowing smiles to the son.

The guests remained in the banquet hall, unaware, stuffed with gilded wedding cake and drunk on oceans of lacasa. Just as well. Glinda might have been disappointed about missing out on showers of rose petals, but Fiyero knew quite well that they were escaping showers of innuendo.

She finally stopped her giggling as they mounted the first few steps, and with a jolt of guilt he noticed the way her hand shook as she squeezed his arm.

He knew she must have some idea of what was to come, given the many times he'd seen her in the university courtyard, gasping over some brightly-covered romance novel with her friends... and then, more often then not, it was shoved playfully under Elphaba's pea green nose... she'd make some sound of disgust and twist up her face, but the almost-purple blush always gave her away...

Fiyero shook himself. It didn't matter.

The doorway to the suite had been garlanded with roses, and Glinda's baby-doll voice went tremulous...

"Are- aren't you g-going to...?"

Eventually grasping her meaning, Fiyero swallowed harshly and, keeping a firm grip on her waist, struggled to locate the backs of her legs through the yards and yards of white silk, eventually scooping her off her feet with an awkward stagger. She clung to his neck in an almost desperate fashion until they were over the threshold and at the room's center, when he was obliged to set to her down and untangle her arms. She almost crumpled to the floor, her knees like water, and clutched at his shoulders to the point of pain.

Their lips pressed together – her mouth tasted of strawberries and sugar cake – and she gave a rehearsed sigh as they separated, her painted eyelids still closed and fluttering...

His fingers shook as the buttons of her gown slipped loose, her hands fumbling at his jacket, the clasps confusing her... Blonde curls came tumbling over white shoulders as her dress tumbled to the plush carpet in a glittering heap, leaving behind a complicated tangle of ivory lingerie.

Fiyero would have rolled his eyes, had every muscle not been tense and shaking... hundreds of laces and tiny buckles popped free, and she blushed...

Something at the back of his mind reminded him of what should be happening, and with another hard gulp he nodded toward the bed. Glinda smiled weakly, and moments later they were stretched over white satin, the blue velvet coverlet resting heavily upon his hips as he held himself above her, her crystal blue eyes wide and trusting... sweet Oz, she expected him to know what to do... to take _control_... Holding back a moan that had nothing to do with carnal pleasure, he lowered himself carefully and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, almost swallowing the pained whimper that came moments afterward...

He tried to remain at a slow pace, for her sake, yet privately he wanted nothing more then to have this over and done with. His hips canted up a little faster, and blue eyes widened...

* * *

He pretended for a while, keeping his breathing steady and his face impassive until he was certain the blonde genuinely slept, her cheek flushed against the white satin pillow.

The sheets rustled a bit as he slipped free, tugging his trousers and shirt back on with shaking hands. Glinda stirred a bit, eyelids flickering, but didn't awake as he guiltily pressed a gentle kiss to her soft hair, unlocked the window and slipped away down the trunk of willow.

Unfortunate really. She could have stopped him...

* * *

The Palatial Gardens had long been darkened, and the frail light - emanated by hundreds of fireflies, their tiny bodies shod with gold or silver to enhance their beauty – simply glittered off the jeweled flowers, hardly providing any illumination to see by.

The grass – of spun emerald – crunched a little beneath Fiyero's bare feet, and pricked at every inch of exposed skin as he lay on his back beside a rosebush loaded with blossoms of yellow beryl, and waited...

The interlude was not extensive.

He could hear the snap of footfalls against the sparkling foliage, and pale skin glowed in the moonlight as the figure crept into view.

He'd left off the heavier state clothing for a loose shirt of cerulean blue satin, a deep ruffle falling across his breast, and slate-colored trousers with falls, buttoned with solitaire diamonds. His spectacles had been left behind, and had he not known better, Fiyero could have mistaken him for one of the graceful bodied heroes from Glinda's collection of romantic novels...

There was nothing romantic or graceful about this... this creature...

"Tut tut... You surprise me, little one. On your wedding night, of all times – you should be tangled in the sheets with your bride, lost to passion..."

Fiyero felt his face redden, but remained silent. Slender hands gripped his shoulders, and pushed him on his back, ripping open the fastenings of his clothes without any real finesse.

It was harsh, it was lewd, some might even call it shocking – and it was everything he needed. There was no point in trying to understand why – all he knew was that it was easier, far easier to allow another free reign of his body, outside his control and almost outside his will, and it felt _so good_...

A whimper slid out of his throat, his blush darkening at the hands kneading his belly and the tongue wriggling inside him like an eel... Thoughts of the sweet, shallow blonde sleeping in their bed crept guiltily to his mind, yet he beat them away like bothersome insects. These were his own needs, they were of no concern to anyone but himself and the man between his legs – besides, who else would possibly be willing to tend to him in this way, without thinking him revolting, perverse, a freak of nature?

He had his answer only the next week.

**A.N. - Hope you're enjoying it thus far! Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N. - Sorry about the long wait! Enjoy! **

It had been an ordinary winter day – just another close to the week. Fiyero had been standing half-hidden behind a silver column in the Unionist Cathedral, enjoying the brief tranquility that a place of worship constantly commanded – whether or not those within believed the words written over the heads of the saints.

Better than standing by awkwardly as his wife made small talk with Estacualr Chuffery – she'd be blushing, eyelashes fluttering almost as rapidly as her pink lace fan...

Not that Fiyero could truly bring himself to care. If he _were_ being cuckolded, he could hardly claim offense without being guilty of hypocrisy.

He had just begun to feel the first familiar knife-pricks of self-loathing when he saw her...

All in black silk and black fur, black roses pinned to her breast with an onyx brooch, black gloves riding up the entire length of her arms to each sleeve, leaving no bit of flesh exposed. A shallow-brimmed bonnet crowned her head, trimmed with a spray of black hollyhock, and a veil of black lace tumbled down in front of her face, hanging to each fingertip.

A bride in mourning.

She was fortunate, in many ways, that it had been he who noticed the flash of an emerald earlobe just beneath the lace curtain, half-hidden by a dark, drooping curl...

Eyes met – grey to blue – and as they crept closer the recognition, the shock, the bewilderment, the amazement, were replaced instantly by something radically different – before she turned, and fled.

* * *

_He'd hated her at first – possibly because everyone else did, and it was easier to adopt current fashion rather than cause _too_ many ripples... Or, perhaps, it was the way she ripped his armor off as if it were an eggshell, and left him raw and naked with nothing to hide behind... The others were happy enough to see nothing but a handsome face and a blissfully empty mind – the world never sought anything more._

_Except her. _

_She had known – somehow she had seen through the mask he had painted so carefully for years and years, molding into a shambled work of art. He had allowed his rage to flare out and scorch her, just for an instant – and fled. _

_Well... he had tried... he _would_ have, truly... _

_He would have thrown himself into the Impassable Desert and let the sands take him – better to let the sun reduce you to ash, than live in shame..._

_...If hadn't been for the warm texture of her palm._

_He'd been stunned, shaking, timid even – and all from one touch, from a girl he hadn't known more than half a day, and who... who..._

_...Who was lovelier than anyone so freakishly hideous had any _right _to be..._

_...Who made him feel vulnerable, and yet... _safe...

* * *

Lurlinemas had ceased to be an excitement for Fiyero around the time his mother had died – thus, every year since he had found some excuse to escape the general mania. At eight years old, he locked himself away in his bedchamber until his father had the door broken down; at twelve he had stolen one of the rickshaws and the sawhorse, and spent all of nine days hiding in the forest, avoiding the castle guard as they searched for him; and at fourteen, having finally been abandoned to the first of many schools... well, he couldn't fully recall what had happened then, but he woke up Lurlinemas morning hung over and naked from the waist up, with some odd symbols painted over his chest in some kind of black substance he'd never been able to identify...

This year, it seemed, he was unlikely to be as fortunate.

The streets of the city were decked in ribbon and fairy lights, and the general population screamed in a delighted frenzy when the first few rockets were launched above the palace, sending showers of colored sparks across the black sky.

"They're so easy to please – so ready to accept. Small wonder that my grandfather made such easy work of them, isn't it?"

A frigid breeze sent the light, emerald hued balcony drapes to dancing, and a finger – chilled by a goblet of champagne – slid down the back of his neck. Gooseflesh coated his skin, along with a dark blush, and only a closely attentive viewer would have seen the flinch in his eyes as the man behind him nuzzled into his hair.

"You've been less lively than a sleep fay this evening..." he muttered, nosing at an ear.

"– what is it?"

In lieu of a reply, Fiyero gulped down a mouthful of Gilikin gin, almost relishing the burn of the alcohol in his throat. It made things clearer, and the answer more obvious.

The monarch chuckled into his soft hair.

"Sweet Oz, why do I constantly humiliate myself with foolish questions? Your perfectly dazzling bride has finally despaired of you, and thrown herself to another man – it's plain for all to see. And, alas for you, your lover - whom you hate with every fiber of your soul - has every means and capability to with which to crush you, as well as your entire dross-heap of an empire, if he'd like."

Fiyero let his eyes flutter shut as full lips brushed his cheek, a purple bruise just beginning to fade green along the bone, and the other man sighed quietly.

"Don't think that I enjoy speaking that way – "

A finger stroked along the shell of his ear, and he fought against a shudder, lips tightening.

"- And don't for an instant believe that I can't tell just how much you delight in every second of this."

A tear slipped free, only to be caught mid-descent by pale fingertips. His head was turned, and a mouth pressed at his own, swallowing every whimper and choke as a deceptively delicate hand kneaded at his groin.

The monarch pulled back from the kiss, his lips shiny with saliva, and stroked the backs of his knuckles across the green velvet molded to the prince's shoulders.

"You look lovely tonight." he whispered, almost tenderly, before turning for the door and vanishing behind a wall of viridian silk, leaving Fiyero shuddering, alone in the antechamber -  
Suddenly the drapes flew aside and the sound of breaking glass crackled through the minute room, as a goblet struck the floor, white wine spilling over the jeweled tiles like urine.

"Oh! – oh, dearest, there you are, I thought I'd – Oh ozwart, I'm so clumsicated!" his wife whimpered, noticing the alcohol stains dotting the hem of her diamond studded ball gown as she sank to her knees with a rustle of crinolines.

He sighed and knelt beside her, scraping the shards up with both hands and ignoring the flashes of pain with each inevitable slice through flesh –

The words were coming out of his mouth before he'd even thought to speak.

"Tell Avaric to take you home."

If his voice quavered, it couldn't be helped.

Glinda stared back in shock, jaw loose, her cheeks pinked from drinking and perhaps the heat of the packed ballroom.

"But-!"

"I won't be back before next week." he muttered, kissing her forehead chastely.

"Happy Lurlinemas."

He could hear the quiet tears as he slipped past the curtain, fist clenched shut on a handful of shattered glass.

**A.N. - Much more to come! Stay tuned, and please review!**


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